Chapter 21 Threads of Fate

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when Dorian heaved a crate onto the dock, its rough wood biting into his calloused palms. The salty air mingled with tar and the distant hum of sailors preparing their ships. Normally, this rhythm would have brought him a strange comfort. Today, it brought nothing but unease.

He paused, letting the crate rest on the edge, eyes scanning the water. Something was wrong. Her absence was a shadow pressing against his chest. Elara. The thought twisted like a knife, where was she? Was she even safe? Or had the city of elders, with its ancient laws and lethal secrets, already claimed her?

His memories hit him unbidden, glimpses of her slipping through the Hidden Keep, a figure lithe and determined, her eyes steel-set even in fear. And now, the thought of her carrying something precious, something dangerous, through the heart of a city that would kill to protect its secrets, made his stomach churn.

“Dorian.” A sailor’s voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. He nodded distractedly, but his gaze remained fixed on the distant streets. He should be focused, should be lifting crates, ensuring the shipments left safely. But instinct screamed otherwise, she was out there, alone, and danger was circling.

Fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, he made his decision. Hesitation had no place here. He did not know where she had gone, but he could not ignore the pull the inexorable tug of fate. Even if it meant leaving the safety of the dock, even if it meant walking into enemies he could not yet see, he would follow.

Ships bobbed gently in the tide, the port alive with mundane work, oblivious to the storm looming elsewhere. Somewhere, hidden between the city’s alleys and the forests beyond, Elara moved. Dorian would not wait for fate to deliver her to danger or safety. He would seek her, guided by fear, guilt, and a pull he could not name.

The crates waited. The sailors waited. But he did not. He could feel the threads tugging him forward, insistent, unyielding. Whatever awaited, whatever challenges, he had no choice. Elara was more than a lone wolf. She was the key. And he would not allow her to walk through peril alone.

The scent of salt mixed with a memory of her laughter, fragile, fleeting, like a wind-blown spark. Dorian froze for a moment. The first time he had seen her, weaving cautiously through crowded market stalls, eyes sharp, wary. She had been guarded, distrustful, yet moments of vulnerability had slipped through, tiny smiles, fleeting glances.

Evenings walking narrow alleys came back to him. Her voice, soft and cautious, sharing fragments of a life he could barely comprehend. At first, he had been her protector, a shadow at her side. Over time, the role shifted imperceptibly. Trust grew, fragile and deliberate, measured in careful steps and whispered confidences. And yet, just as quickly, it could vanish like mist under the morning sun.

He shook his head, trying to push the memories aside, but the weight remained. Beyond duty, beyond guilt, a quieter thought had taken root. He wanted more than her safety. He wanted her comfort. Her trust. He wanted to be chosen, not merely relied upon. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. His mission, once simple. Protect, atone, survive, was no longer enough.

With muscles straining, Dorian lifted the crate again. His mind lingered on her, where she was now, moving through shadows, carrying the burden of Silverfang’s legacy. Unknowingly, she bore the fate of all those tied to their lineage. He had to find her, not merely to fulfill his duty, but because the thought of her facing danger alone was unbearable.

Even if she did not trust him, even if she might never fully allow it, he would stay near. Silent, steadfast, patient. A shadow tethered to her steps until she could lean willingly.

The sun rose higher, glinting off the water. Determination settled in his chest like iron. He did not know where her trail began or where it would end. But he would follow. He would not falter.

Because some bonds are not chosen, they are earned. Carried through fire and blood. And Dorian would carry his, for as long as it took.

••

The Bloodmoon halls buzzed with the usual chaos of pack life, orders shouted, claws scraping on stone, the metallic scent of weapons in the air. Kael moved through it all with practiced precision, issuing commands, overseeing patrols, yet his mind was elsewhere. Always elsewhere.

Jake, his closest and most trusted watcher, had been at his side for hours, whispering updates from Ashvale. And now, the final piece of news burned itself into Kael’s consciousness. Elara. She had gone… into Hidden Keep. The city of shadows and secrets. The place Kael had avoided at all costs.

“She’s deep inside,” Jake said quietly, eyes cautious. “Council magic… wards… traps. Not even we can follow her in. The moment she steps through, she’s beyond reach.”

Kael’s jaw tightened. His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms. His chest ached, part anger, part obsession, part helplessness. Every instinct, every shred of pride, screamed at him, she’s alone, and danger will find her.

“I don’t care,” he said finally, voice low, unyielding. “I will go. I will protect her. No Elder, no spell, no council will touch her while I’m breathing.”

Jake’s eyes widened slightly, knowing the risks. “Alpha… Hidden Keep isn’t just another city. The Elders, the wards… it’s not a place to stroll in. If...”

“I don’t care,” Kael cut him off, his voice slicing the air. “I’ve watched her from afar long enough. I’ve obeyed rules I didn’t want to obey. But now? Now I go. I will not. Cannot, let anyone threaten her. Not the Council, not their magic, not anyone.”

Jake’s gaze lingered, trying to gauge whether the Alpha before him was resolute or reckless. Kael didn’t flinch. His green eyes burned, shadows of fire dancing in the irises.

Kael turned to the window, staring at the pale moon hanging over Bloodmoon territory. It was the same moon that had watched him every night of his life, through victories, through sins, through the curse that clawed at his soul.

“If they dare touch her… if they dare harm her… I will obliterate every obstacle,” he muttered, voice almost reverent in its fury. “Every last one of them.”

A slow, deliberate exhale left him. He already felt the weight of the journey ahead, the city of secrets, the Elders who had outwitted generations of wolves, the traps that could ensnare even the strongest. But none of it mattered. Not compared to her.

Elara. The lone wolf, the survivor, the key. The girl whose blood held the power to free him or damn him.

Kael turned away from the moon, fingers brushing over the edge of the table, resting briefly on the leather-bound journal he had kept since the massacre. Memories of fire, blood, screams, and regret surged through him. But the thought of Elara, alive and in danger, was sharper than any pain he had ever known.

He would go. And when he did, nothing would stand in his way.

The night stretched around him, silent and heavy, as Kael prepared. Somewhere beyond the walls of Bloodmoon, Hidden Keep waited, ancient and untamed, its magic thrumming like a heartbeat he could feel even from here. And soon, he would step into it.

The fate of the lone wolf and of every pack, was about to collide with the fury of the Alpha who refused to be powerless.

“Come what may… I will reach her,” he whispered to the shadows. “No one will take her from me.”

The halls of Bloodmoon trembled faintly under the weight of his resolve, as if even the stones understood the storm that was coming.